Throne for a Pet
by Genevieve Darcy Granger
Summary: Though he never lays a finger on them, Ebony Maw is too rough with his playthings.


Eyes rolling back with pleasure, you jerked forward, hands scrabbling for purchase on the slippery, vibrating seat. You were mounted on a triangle board, for lack of better description. When Maw first offered it to you, his voice had been with dripping sarcasm, "I've been neglecting you, my pet. You have begun to doubt your value to me. So, I built you this throne. Please, sit."

On first hesitant approach, you noticed it was not very comfortable for sitting, but thankfully the triangle's sides had been rounded. When you crawled over it, you felt a peculiar sort of energy in the air that you associated with magic, something you had grown accustomed to since being in Maw's possession.

For the past two weeks since he bought you from the Collector, you had been demoted from whore to house pet. It wasn't that bad; you were a smart girl, you'd played this scenario before, so you knew to be good. The Collector had at least had the courtesy to warn you that if Maw was displeased with what he bought, he would return it in pieces; and if not, then the Collector wouldn't be as kind either.

One thing you weren't experienced with, though, was being left virtually untouched. Other than the initial touch of Maw's spindly fingertips under your chin as he examined your wares, he had not touched you since. The food was good, the sleeping arrangement a small cot in his lab that kept you separated from the more interesting stuff you could get in trouble with, and the company was minimum. You'd caught glimpses of serving bots and Kree soldiers, but that was all. Maw himself barely spared you a glance, even though he kept you naked barring the electrified collar. Even then, it had yet to shock you, thankfully. You were good.

Well, mostly good. One of Maw's rules was very counterproductive for a whore: no orgasms. You hadn't touched yourself, but you hadn't needed to. Invisible hands – often accompanied by Maw's presence while he worked in his lab or read some sort of digital text – stroked your most intimate areas, teasing you. There were innocuous at first, just brushing across the nape of your neck, curiously trailing down your arms and legs, stroking your spine to soothe the shivers from the cool lab. Then they became more daring, slipping over your breasts to circle around your erect nipples, and then plucking them over and over again until you whined and they would stuff. When you looked down, you could see the pressure of touch against your skin, and it left no doubt in your mind that it was Maw. Once or twice, the touch snuck down between your legs to seek out your sensitive clit to pluck until you cried out. The touch was never enough to send you over the edge, though at the first ghost of it over your skin was enough to get you wet and ready.

Now, though, Maw clearly wanted to play. You crawled over the cushion, and kneeled over it, skeptical. Those invisible hands were impatient and gripped your hips, drawing you down until the raised side of the triangle cut through your dewy labia lips until it was flush against you. Instead of the sensation of magic, you felt it completely as it thrummed through you pinpointed especially on your clitoris. "Master!" You gasped in surprise, and then couldn't help but rub yourself in counterpoint against it, the texture of the cushion like soft leather, almost like Maw's skin that you only knew from his fingertips. "M-master, what is this?"

"A throne for you, my pet, as I said – and you know I don't care to repeat myself." Maw passed by you, his robes barely swishing over your arm before he sat at his workbench and crossed his legs demurely. "I'm curious about the Terran anatomy, pet. Won't you help me to understand? The experiment is simple." He sat forward dramatically, elbows propped on knees and fingers steepled in front of his chin. "How many times can a whore come?"

As the penny dropped, your eyes widened, and the vibrations kicked up from a barely-there hum to a definite, inescapable buzz. Now that you were given permission to come and truly show off your talents, you wasted no time gripping the throne and sliding your pussy up and down as you moaned. Maybe a minute or two later, you had your first climax in two weeks – way too long in your line of work – and still you continued to rub yourself through it, determined to impress Maw.

Looking up you locked eyes with him, your mouth open in an endless litany of moans as your hips steadily rocked. "Master," you began, maybe to entice him to finally have you, "Master, oh, thank you, thank you." When words became too difficult after you climaxed again, watching him watching you, you knew you wouldn't have a problem trying to continue. Maw had told you on your first day that he could read minds, so he would know if there'd be trouble; you tried not to make any.

It was after your third orgasm that you began to tire, your muscles shaking with effort as you writhed in place. To keep yourself aroused, you reached up to play with your nipples, shaking your breasts at Maw and plucking much like he often did. Still, your clit was beginning to get too overstimulated for this to be pleasure anymore, and your face showed the pain in the slight winces. Your moans had diminished to breathy gasps as you struggled to pull in cool air in your lungs. Sweat dripped, rolling down your skin, and your own juiced had already thoroughly soaked the throne as you squirted with your fourth orgasm. Your limbs trembled, feeling so heavy, and you slowed your pace until you were sitting on the throne, the vibrations attacking you until you came again.

"P-please, Master," your pride finally relented as you allowed yourself to beg, "please. No more. Please."

Not betraying a single emotion other than disappoint, Maw leaned back in his chair and waved his hand dismissively. "We're not finished yet, pet. Continue."

The vibrations increased in intensity, and you began to scream as your pleasure warred with your body's pain of exhaustion. To keep balance, you dropped your hands down, no longer able to self-stimulate your nipples. Your spine was ramrod straight all the way up to your fifth orgasm, which admittedly took longer than the others because of the delay of pain, and then your bones turned to jelly to match the mush of your inside. Helpless against gravity, you slumped against your sodden, vibrating throne until your poor nipples rubbed against it and had you jolting again with another smaller orgasm.

You stayed like that for a while, horizontal on your belly as you cried to the floor, tears streaming down your face. Desperate for relief, you tried to roll off to the side or at least lift yourself enough to give your clit a break and air out your pussy. But Maw, ever watchful and listening to your thoughts, omniscient as he was, clucked his tongue in disappointment and the invisible hands returned, holding you down by a hard grip on your hips. In punishment, the vibrations became more powerful as well.

"And here I thought you were grateful, pet. Obedient. Good," Maw mocked. The hands propped you up, forcing you to face him and more hands appeared as they gripped your ankles and pulled your legs, further pulling you down against the throne. In your frenzy to get away, your muscles were reenergized and you struggled against the unseen bonds, but that only made it worse as your movements forced you to rut your clit against the throne. "Do you not like your present, pet?"

"It's too much," you sobbed, "Please, Master, mercy."

For a moment, it looked like Maw would give in, but then his face hardened. "Mercy is for the weak, pet."

With that, your wrists were lifted into the air above your head by unseen hands, and you writhed in a dance of pain as you came again and again and again for Maw's cruel experiment and perverse amusement. At one point, you had opened your eyes to stare at him pleadingly, but you only saw Maw working his hand underneath his robe as he got off on your pleasure. You thought that meant it was almost over, but clearly Maw was just as bad as a tease to himself as he was to you.

On the verge of passing out from exhaustion, suddenly all the vibrations came to a stop. The hands released you and you flopped like a worm to the cold floor of the lab. Your pussy was still pulsing out hot juices in the wake of your last orgasm, and every nerve ending was on fire. You were more than tired, more than sore, your throat hoarse and dry, your heart racing. Still, you lifted your head to your Master just in time to see him wiping away the evidence of his climax with a handkerchief with businesslike efficiency and nonchalance.

Maw turned his back to you as he looked over his digital text, his fingertips neatly typing out something. With clinical detachment, he noted aloud, "15 orgasms in 7 hours. A new record. The last one could only reach 12 in 8. Still, there is always room for improvement. We'll try again." Glancing back at you casually over his shoulder, you tried not to flinch away when he said, "Now be a good pet and lick your throne clean for tomorrow."


End file.
